“Just my life, if it were any use to him,” he said.

Her lips moved.

“That is so little!” she said.  “We can all die for those we love, but few of us can live for them—­go on living a life which has to be moulded to a plan, bent on another’s will—­Could you do that?”

“Yes,” he said, after a pause.  “There is no sacrifice I would not make for my father’s sake; but”—­he laughed and cleared the gravity from his brow—­“all the sacrifice seems to be on his side.  He has worked for me all his life, is working still, I’m afraid—­Here is your father, Miss Falconer; and looking for you, I’m afraid.”

Ralph Falconer stood in the doorway looking round, his heavy face seeming heavier than usual, his thick lips drooping.  As he saw the two young people, his lips straightened and he went over to them slowly.

“I hope you are not going to take Miss Falconer away, sir?” said Stafford.

Ralph Falconer shook his head, and, avoiding his daughter’s eye, said: 

“Sir Stephen wants to see you in the library, Mr. Orme, and wishes me to accompany you.”

“Certainly, if Miss Falconer will excuse me.”

He rose, and he fancied her hand trembled slightly as it rested almost as lightly as a feather on his arm.

“I’ll take you to Lady Clansford—­”

“There is no need:  here is my next partner,” she said, as the “beautiful, bountiful Bertie” came up smiling and buoyant.

“Anything the matter, sir?” asked Stafford, as he and Falconer made their way round the room through which was floating the last thing in waltzes, a soft and sensuous melody which sang the soul to rest.

“I think not.  A matter of business, I think,” said Ralph Falconer.  “His secretary, Mr. Murray, has just come from London:  it may be something to do with the papers he had brought.”

Stafford nodded, though the explanation seemed unsatisfactory:  for what concern had Stafford with the “papers”?  As they went through the hall they saw the financiers clustered together with an expectant air, as if they were waiting for the result of the arrival of the man by the special train; and they stared at Falconer and exchanged glances as he and Stafford passed them and went to the library door.

Sir Stephen’s voice came cheerily in response to Stafford’s knock, and Stafford entered; Falconer following him with bent head and the same heavy look.

Sir Stephen was sitting at the table before a despatch box, and he held out his hand and uttered a little cry of pleasure as he saw who it was.

“Stafford, my boy!  You could not have come at a better moment—­Don’t go, Falconer!  I’d like you to hear me tell him the good news.  I’ve got it here!”

He patted the despatch case.  “This is Pandora’s box, Staff!  With something better than Hope at the bottom:  Certainty!”

He laughed quietly, confidently, and his bright eyes flashed under their dark brows from one to the other.